


Mayhem to be had

by Blank_Ideas



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blank_Ideas/pseuds/Blank_Ideas
Summary: Rip a king stuck in a hole
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Mayhem to be had

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sewerslimetime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sewerslimetime/gifts).



> Happy birthday bud!

Concrete.   
Dark, grey concrete. Heavy and thick with it’s dense weight pooling atop his chest and pinning him effectively to the ground that lay below his brittle back, with such an all encompassing nature that he found not an inch to move and had only rubbed his fingers red and raw when he’d initially squirmed upon awakening. Concrete. Wrapped about him and unending for what could be metres or miles above, beside or below him, filling the darkness with an unending mass and presence that left the oxygen displaced from about him, filling his lungs with nothing time and time again, asphyxiating in the skin tight tomb he’d been trapped within. Concrete. Never wavering for just a moment as he did not have the time to dream and far too much time to to not be listless in his own pain and sweltering thoughts.

He was alive, he was conscious, had been this entire time since awakening from his pesticide induced fever dream to find the now unending yet claustrophobic world he’d been narrowed down too. There were many thoughts running through his head, those of bitterness, those of remorse and those of hope- never having particularly seen the point in fear after his more than simply extended life time. The main thought though, the one that triumphed atop all the others was that of freedom.  
The pure sweet feeling of air upon his face and ground beneath his feet. The opportunity to cause chaos and mischief in a crowd and be unstopped as he sought his own amusement. The faces of those he shocked were just as warm and soothing as the sun upon his pock marked skin and he relished the sensation of being a curiosity and of being feared, both in part to the simple fact that he’d never really desired much more than to have himself some fun. Life was so dreary otherwise.

Life was so dreary right now. Every moment an eternity that took a confusing mix of seconds and hours to pass, their impossible nature meaning nothing to him as he had long since lost track of the time and had nothing except his own boredom to keep him occupied. Thoughts of revenge were long wasted, betrayal or love too, infact with some basic reasoning it was rather easy to assume that what lay beyond the thick blanket of concrete would be a world entirely new and spectacularly different from the place he had known, and that all those familiar faces who he had tormented and teased for years may easily just be bodies in the dirt beside him. Dead and rotting- impossible to mourn though. This was the way things were, how they had been for years and as much as he’d miss some (if he even knew their status), they were all bound to death eventually and John Amhurst had long since stopped caring for such a thing.

He was bored.  
So bored he ached for something to do, a deep yearning that filled his chest and made it sing with a softened dull sort of pain that begged to escape forth from his tired bones and wreak havoc upon the world and yet, there was nothing he could do. Not cry, not speak, not even twitch. He was immobilized thoroughly with his mind rattling at the bars in his brain and begging for relief, for freedom or just simply amusement.  
So long had it been so dark, the world was meaningless and yet he could not grow numb.

There was a shaking.

Beneath and around him. Jarring almost as it jostled his feeble body in a quick back and forth sway against the cold confines of his unwanted coffin. At first he considered an earthquake and then remembered the likeliness of such a thing, then a tiny spark of hope filled the pire in his mind and he was alight. Emotion’s glowing with a roaring fire filling his raspy throat as he laughed, laughed into the coldness, the weight, the concrete and felt his hot breath answer him in return. Perhaps it was not as funny as he thought it to be, but there had been a need and with it fulfilled he found himself hopelessly lost to spark fanned flame. This hope. This knowledge. This rumbling that tore the concrete apart with a low, deep groan of pain. Concrete should not crack like that, should not jar apart in jagged pieces like a hungry maw but this rumbling had defiled John’s ceaseless tomb and reduced it to paper thin walls and his eager hands were more than ready to brace through it’s rotten core. Far too much flame imagery, but the truth of the matter was just as complicated as his feelings and thoughts in that brief freeing moment. 

The air was so much lighter as it welcomed his aching body, cold but in a fresh way with new scents and sounds carried upon it's quick and refreshing breeze, its sensation reinvigorating as it pressed and moved past his sickly skin, and did not linger unlike that forsaken weight of concrete had. No pressure upon him and a new world to explore, he felt good, great even. As good as an avatar of the corruption with years worth of mayhem to catch up on could feel.

John Amherst was free and there was fun to be had.


End file.
